Little Acts
by A Timid Soul
Summary: A series of shorts focusing on the Inquisitor and her interactions with her companions. No real order. Be warned: mild spoilers ahead! Rating subject to change.
1. Paints

_Author's Note_: Note that all of these shorts are/will be written as I try to survive dead week and finals. I needed to give myself a little brain break, so if there are grammatical errors or the writing is just rougher in general, I apologize; also, I haven't played super far into the game, so my apologies if the characterization is a bit off. Also also, I've been a ghost here recently, so I wanted to share a little something with y'all. Enjoy!

_For this chapter:_ Please do not read unless you've obtained Skyhold! I don't want to spoil anything!

* * *

Avanna walked awkwardly from her room in Skyhold to the tavern. She was trying, and failing, to hide the gift that she had picked out for Cole. She enjoyed the spirit's presence, but always left feeling rather sorry for the boy. His life was nothing but a series of reactions; as a spirit of compassion, he had to wait before acting, and Avanna hated that he rarely sought out pleasure for himself. So she got him a gift.

As she walked up the stairs, she briefly wondered what other people would see. Could they see her deliver the gift to the spirit? Or would he simply wipe their memory? If they couldn't see him, would they think she was crazy?

She shook the thoughts from her head as she stepped onto the last flight, making her way to the corner to talk to Cole.

She barely heard as Cole gave a vague description on someone's feelings.

"I got this for you," Avanna blurted, only realizing then how entirely unsure she was about how exactly to give him the gift.

"Oh?" came the soft response. "Why?"

"Because…" Avanna had to pause as she found the words. "Because you always seem so sad. I just…wanted to help."

"I enjoy helping others," Cole replied. "It makes me happy."

"Yes, I know," replied Avanna hurriedly. "It's just –"

"Thank you," Cole interjected, looking down at the wrapped parcel in his hands.

Avanna inwardly sighed. She should have known that a spirit of compassion would understand.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" prompted Avanna as she watched Cole simply stare at the package.

"It feels warm," he replied.

Avanna was confused. His gift shouldn't be hot.

"What do you mean? It's not –"

"Your heart."

Avanna stopped. He could feel her happiness. Perhaps that was a gift in of itself.

As Avanna stopped to ponder the meaning of his words, Cole proceeded to sit on the ground and open the gift.

"They're lovely," replied Cole. "So colorful."

"They're paints," replied Avanna, moving to sit next to him. "I saw them when I was in Val Royeaux and thought of you."

Cole looked up, bright eyes barely peeking out from under his hat. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," responded Avanna warmly.

"Inquisitor!" came a shout from the tavern floor.

Avanna sighed, tilting her head back, elven ears pressed against the wall.

"Inquisitor!"

"I guess that's my cue, huh?" sighed Avanna as she pushed herself up. "I'll talk to you later, Cole."

She began walking before she felt someone grab her arm. She turned, and there Cole was, standing and innocent.

"Thank you, Avanna."

The elf's heart swelled.

"I…it was nothing. Go on. I'll talk to you later," she managed as she quickly walked down the steps.

"Inquis–"

"I'm here!" Avanna shouted back.

Cole smiled as he ran his hand across the empty palette. He did like colors.

* * *

Avanna was swamped with work. Letters begging for help, notes from her advisors and inner circle, and important codices that needed reading littered her desk. She grew frustrated at the clutter clouding her vision and pushed herself up from the desk. She stepped out onto her balcony to enjoy the crisp night air. However, as she stayed outside, the crisp air turned bitter, and she reluctantly returned to her desk. As she picked up the parchment she was previously reading, a paper caught her eye. She paused, placing the paper to the side as she gently shifted the papers, revealing a bright and vibrant picture.

The parchment was thick but the paint that was used was even thicker. Texture and color dominated the scene, and Avanna couldn't help but run her fingers over the ridges of the piece. It was overwhelming gold, but a clear gold, like the color of sunrays. A stray streak of red or blue somehow found its way into the mix, but the comforting pale yellows and deep golds helped to ease her mind. Her eyes and hand continued downwards across the page as she happened upon a face. Well, the impression of one. With dawning realization, she held the picture up at arm's length. The picture then came into focus. The face in the picture suddenly became a figure that looked distinctly like her. It looked heavenwards where showers of sunrays cascaded over her. She touched the figure, surprised that it was smooth, and retraced the deep texture of the sunrays. She tried to determine if there was a figure in the heavens, but to her relief there was none. The picture showed nothing but the fact that she was chosen. It didn't matter who it was that had guided her to this point – the Creators, Andraste, a paragon – it simply mattered that she was here now.

Avanna gently placed the picture on her desk, allowing herself a brief moment to process the joy and relief that flooded her. She lifted her eyes back up to the painting as she absently fiddled with the corner of the parchment. She noticed a faint black color on the reverse side of the corner she was touching and flipped the page.

There, in a black childlike scrawl was a name: Cole.

Impulsively, Avanna made her way to the tavern and found Cole, sitting on the ground, hands still covered in paint. He jumped up as he heard noise, hands up in the air submissively, before Avanna wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

"Thank you, Cole," she whispered against the fabric of his shirt.

Cole smiled, returning the embrace.

"No. Thank you."


	2. Wax

"Oh! Mistress Lavellan! I did not hear you enter," came the surprised greeting from Josephine.

Avanna leaned against the table Minaeve used for her creature research.

"Part of being an elf," replied Avanna absently, shrugging her shoulders and looking around the small room. "So much stone…" she murmured.

"What did you say?" asked Josephine, attention divided between the papers on her desk and her conversation with the Herald.

"Nothing," replied Avanna, pushing off from the desk and waving a hand dismissively. "Just talking to myself. Is there anything that I can help with? You seem awfully busy."

Josephine smiled. "That is very kind of you, Herald, but I can manage."

Avanna sighed. "You know I'd prefer it if you didn't call me Herald. When we're out of the public eye, you can just call me Avanna."

"With all due respect, Herald," began Josephine, as she shuffled some papers, "I believe that it is more appropriate to use titles. You wouldn't want the servants to start addressing you without your honorific simply because the rest of the inner circle does not. It would seem unprofessional to those outside the Inquisition."

"I understand what you're getting at Josephine and I… respect it," resigned Avanna. "Are you sure you don't need help? Creators know that I've got a million things on my mind and could use something to do."

"You truly wish to help?" prodded Josephine.

"Of course," replied Avanna. "I mean, I know sometimes having help can make your life more difficult, but if I can even organize papers and put them in order I'd be extremely grateful."

Josephine paused, wiping off hot wax that melted onto the table as she contemplated the offer.

"Very well. If you want to help, I could use a hand organizing some of the missives we've just received. In order of descending importance according to the sender, please," said Josephine, handing Avanna a stack of letters.

"Uh…right," intoned Avanna awkwardly. "And how exactly do I determine importance? I'm not very familiar with all the titles humans use."

"I…nevermind, I'll take those back. You can…" Josephine trailed as she searched for a task for the elf to handle.

"If you don't have anything, I'll just leave you to –"

"No, no, Herald. I am sure that there is something here…aha! Here! Would you mind sealing all of these for me? I have wax and my signet ring right here."

Avanna smiled. "Now that, I can do."

Avanna took the missives and sealing supplies and took up a position on the floor.

"Herald, would you prefer the desk? I –"

"You're the one writing. I'm going to sit here and try not to make a mess," replied Avanna, warming wax over the flame of the candle.

"Very well."

The two sat in silence for a while before Josephine finally spoke up.

"Herald?"

"Yes, Josephine?"

"I am curious. I have heard some…unsavory tales about you and your kin."

Avanna snorted at this. "Who hasn't?"

"I am sorry, I didn't mean –"

Avanna waved a hand. "Josephine, you're fine. I can handle a few wild tales and sideways glances. It's nothing new to me."

"I am sorry to hear that, Herald," replied Josephine, pausing from her work to gaze at the elf. Outwardly, she was composed, but Josephine knew that the stories that buzzed around would eventually make some impression on the woman. "I will talk to the staff about such things. It might help, though, for both the Chantry and our own followers if we knew more about how you lived."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, I can tell you one thing. The myth of a lazy elf is just that: a myth. The clan that I came from was hard working. Mending aravels and armor. Spending days out on the hunt," Avanna shook her head as she prepared her next statement. "I still can't believe that people get their food delivered to their door."

"I…never thought much of that," replied Josephine, a slight bit embarrassed. "But thank you for the insight."

Avanna shrugged, pressing the ring into the hot wax on the parchment in front of her.

"It's not bad, just…different. We don't have those luxuries as Dalish. But, to some degree, we chose that lifestyle, so we can't really complain. Well, we _can_ complain, but that just gets to be a bit much. Anyway, is there anything else you're curious about?"

Josephine paused a moment.

"I have always heard that Dalish clans are a tight-knit group. Do you miss your clan?"

"Of course! What kind of question is that?" laughed Avanna good-naturedly. "I spent my whole life with those people. All of my friends are there. So of course I miss them."

"Do you intend to go back?"

"To be honest, I haven't even thought that far. Until we can take care of the Breach, it's irrelevant."

"You are…very dedicated, Herald," noted Josephine.

"Well, I have to be, don't I?" replied Avanna, finishing the last of the letters in the pile of missives.

"I…suppose that is true," responded Josephine.

"But to be honest," continued the elf as she gathered up her supplies, "I enjoy the work. It's for a good cause, and I think that the team works well together."

Josephine nodded as Avanna deposited the completed missives on the desk.

"Huh. You'd think I'd be better at this sealing since I do it to so many rifts," commented Avanna as she examined her handiwork. "Anyway, thank you for letting me help. It was good to get my mind off of things."

"Likewise, Herald," replied Josephine, dipping her head in deference.

"Well, I guess it's off to the training grounds for me. See how the recruits are doing. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call," offered Avanna as she turned to leave the room.

"Of course, Mistress Lavallen. Dareth shiral."

The elf paused, smiling as she looked over her shoulder to her advisor.

"Dareth shiral."

And with that the elf left the room.

Josephine smiled, genuinely grateful for the distraction, but resolved to return to her duties in force. However, as she set quill to parchment, she noticed the bright red of the seals. Curious as to the Herald's comment, she picked up the missives and examined them. They weren't poorly done but…well, it's not how Josephine would have done it. Regardless, they were sealed now and it was one less thing to worry about.

Josephine smiled once more to herself before resuming her duties.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Thank you to everyone who has favorited/alerted this story! I really appreciate it! Special thanks to **Embrium** for reviewing the first chapter! And to all of you who are also braving finals week, good luck!


	3. Home

_Author's Note_: Mild spoiler for Lavellan Inquisitor. Nothing major by far, but here's a warning just in case.

* * *

Avanna stood in the cold, mindless to the ice that struck her face with each harsh snowflake. She embraced the numbing winds, wrapping herself deeper and deeper into its embrace, trying to close herself to the world. A piece of paper, now soaked with snow, flittered pitifully in her grasp in the wind. The page held nothing but ink that bled into the words that pierced her heart.

_I am sorry._

The words rung hollow, reverberated in the empty recesses of her heart that held only the memory of feeling.

_I am certain that Lavellan feels the loss…_

Why. Why hadn't he helped? Why had he abandoned her? The heat of rage threatened to burn away the comfort of the cold, threatened to set ablaze her chilled heart. She closed her eyes, focused on the chattering of teeth, the cracked lips, the shaking limbs, the frosty tears – anything but the heat and pain of emotion.

A man joined her on the porch. Tall, strong, cloaked.

"Avanna," he beseeched, wind whipping his cloak, almost alive.

The elf remained still. Told herself not to feel. Not to look. Not to break the fragile hold she had.

He moved to take off his cloak and place it around her shaking shoulders. The elf cowered.

"How could they!" she screamed into the wind, the heat burning behind her eyes, the chill gone. "How could that do that!"

She gripped the damp parchment, let her fingers tear tiny half-moon holes into the words. "I had trusted them."

The man stood, cloak in hand, material dancing in the cold air.

"They can't…_my clan_…"

She cursed as hot tears met the cold air. Cursed the name of the arl who had failed to save her people. Failed to save her home.

"We could have saved them!" she yelled, turning on the man. "Why did you let me believe that mere words would goad a shem into helping my clan? Why didn't we send in your men? Why –?"

Her voice broke, words failing as bile burned her throat, snow continuing to soak deeper and deeper into her clothes, attempting to numb the wounds they could not reach.

"Please," the man offered again, standing stoically in the storm.

The elf met his gaze.

"No," she spat bitterly. "You want me to sit while you repeat platitudes that change nothing."

"Avanna."

"I cannot, Cullen! I have lost my entire clan. My home, Cullen! Do you understand? I've lost my home!"

The elf tried to rein in the heat that laced her words, that made her spit slurs like a child. Tried to find the place where there was no emotion, no pain, no anger, no guilt. But she knew that there wasn't one. That she would have to wake up everyday and smother the flames that threatened to consume her thoughts until they were nothing but seething embers.

She stood there, bent by the wind and pain, cowering from the man's cloak. She wanted to yell, to blame him, to find the arl and show him the pain that she felt.

Cullen dipped his head.

"I lost my home, too," he said quietly, so quietly that the anger of the storm nearly drowned out the words that kept the elf grounded.

"You're lying," she managed, breath labored.

The commander shook his head. "I wish that I was."

Heat and ice battled within her. The heat so desperately wanted to hear his words, to allow herself to be led back to the room, to begin the process of healing that would never end. But the ice screamed in her ears, promising that the embrace of the cold would be preferable to the slow burn of truth.

Her eyes darted, tongue trying to wet purple lips, battling to find an answer.

The commander stepped forward. The elf cried out in pain, in anguish. A cloak somehow found its place on her shoulders, arms around her waist, as she cried, hot tears melting the frost on the man's shirt. Her body heaved, lungs rattling with the pressure to deliver life-giving air to her body as despair ripped from her throat, adding its own mournful note to the storm that raged in the mountains.

The commander led the elf to a chair in front of the fire, closing the doors and finding dry blankets to clothe her with. They sat in silence, both lost to the pull of memories.

"I am sorry, Cullen," the elf whispered, throat raw as the flame in the fire somehow tempered the flame in her heart. "I didn't mean…any of it. I just…the words..."

The commander nodded, "It is alright."

"I didn't save them," the elf continued, words escaping as their frozen prison thawed. "I failed them. My home, my clan, my friends…gone."

"As is mine."

The elf imperceptibly turned her head towards him.

"Yours?"

"Haven," the man replied. "I grew up near there."

"You…did?"

"I did."

The elf mulled over the words, tasting the same bitterness in his words that laced hers.

"I am sorry."

Heat and ice in equal parts had destroyed his home. The burning vanity of Corypheus consumed by the icy grip of an avalanche. She could understand his pain. Could _feel_ it.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

The man nodded.

"Always?"

A pause.

A nod.

"So we are homeless now."

The man shook his head.

"We have here," the man answered.

"I…," the elf paused, mulling over the thought. "That is wise of you, Cullen."

The commander nodded.

"Home." The word felt funny on her tongue. Bitterness lessened by something else. Something stronger: hope.

"It will hurt. It will always hurt. But one day, you will wake up, and you will find that you can bear it," the commander stated.

The elf nodded, energy draining as her body struggled to find a balance between the heat and ice within her.

"Thank you, Cullen," the elf said, meeting the man's gaze. "I appreciate you talking me down. I know I was harsh with you. Unfairly so, and I apologize for that."

Cullen dipped his head, before he stood, moving to walk down the stairwell.

"Wait," the elf beseeched, standing though her muscles protested.

The man stopped and turned.

Avanna shuffled towards him, blanket wrapped protectively around herself, shielding and containing emotions. She stopped before the man before she found herself leaning into him, grasping for something real to hold. He returned the embrace, allowing the pain that he had hid to surface for a moment.

Two souls stood bare to the world, allowing themselves to feel and share in a common pain. Allowing themselves to understand that there was another who shared their burden. Allowing themselves to believe that perhaps one day they could heal.

The elf began to pull away, eyes still closed to reality, knowing that the man would need time on his own. She was surprised when she felt warm lips press against her forehead.

"I am here," he whispered, before he dropped his arms and moved to the stairwell. "Always."

The elf stood in the heat of the flames as the man made his way down the steps. She allowed the words to sink in and reach the wounds that the storm could not. Tears did not spring, joy did not blossom, but hope managed to settle into her heart, lessening the suffering of her acrid guilt.

Avanna returned to the chair, staring into the fire as she still grasped the paper in her hands and thought of home.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Shout-out to **Embrium** and **bleeding-roses** for reviewing the last chapter! I really appreciate y'all's support! Also, special thanks to all of y'all who have faved or followed this! I decided to try a different style for this, so if it's not your cup of tea, don't worry; I'll most likely be switching back to my usual style for the next chapter. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope the holiday season has been treating y'all well!


	4. On the Surface Again

_Author's Note_: Major spoiler warning for The Descent! Read at your own discretion.

* * *

Scout Harding had never seen the Inquisitor so quiet. She was usually quite chatty around the dwarf, joking about whatever threats the region offered, musing what obscure lead Corypheus could possibly be searching for now, or even just checking in on her at Skyhold. But since the Inquisitor had emerged from the Deep Roads, some lingering trace of the darkness below seemed to haunt her face.

"Find out you're queasy in small spaces?" Harding joked good naturedly as the group began the long trek back to Skyhold. The elf didn't acknowledge her, eyes resting on the reins in her hands but focused on other thoughts entirely.

"I don't think Quizzy here is up for chat right now," said the Iron Bull to the dwarf in low tones. "Been as silent as a Sister the whole trek up, too."

"Is something the matter?" asked Harding, shifting nervously in her saddle. She hoped she hadn't missed something obvious. She'd be a pretty lousy scout if she did.

"No, nothing like that," answered Bull, guiding his horse easily with one hand while he gave a small dismissive wave with the other. "She just has a lot to think about is all. It'll pass."

Harding nodded as Bull clicked his horse forward to resume his normal spot. Harding dropped back until she was watching the Inquisitor's back, the monotonous motion of the horses failing to help lull her mind into easy acceptance. It just seemed so terribly out of character for the Inquisitor, and Harding couldn't find a way to force the new tension from her muscles. Eventually, though, the group stopped to make camp and pulled the scout's mind back to reality.

With the help of the Inquisitor and her companions, the work went quicker than expected, and Harding was surprised to find that she had a few brief moments of free time before dinner. She walked over to a small patch of grass, grateful that the Storm Coast was still lush with flowering weeds, and picked nearly all of the flowers she could find. When she returned to the small camp, she was sure she looked like some lost flower girl looking for a marriage ceremony. That, or just an overly enthusiastic green thumb. She ignored the looks of those around her and made her way to the Inquisitor, the fierce determination on her face in odd contrast to the delicate haul in her arms.

Avanna looked up for a moment as the scout approached her, blue eyes finally meeting hers, and Harding found herself letting out a small breath as she realized that they were not glassy or unfocused as she feared. The moment passed, though, as the elf turned to examine the ground before her with the same unseeing stare as before. Harding let the bundle of flowers fall before the Inquisitor before seating herself on the ground across from her. She picked up two of the white flowers when she heard the elf sigh.

"Harding, I'd really like a moment a—"

"Alone. I know. And I promise, I'll be very quiet."

"Harding." She could practically feel the frustration in her voice. "I'm really not—"

"I can tell," continued the dwarf as she maneuvered the stems of the flowers to face each other. "And if you'd like to find another isolated log to sit at, go right ahead. But I'm staying here."

Harding had to keep herself from snickering as she heard the Inquisitor look around, armor rustling and clinking at her every movement. Resigned, the elf remained. Harding silently celebrated.

The dwarf returned to her self-appointed task, tying the two stems together in a knot. Satisfied with her handiwork, she took another flower from the pile and tied the stem of that one right below the petals of one in her other hand. She continued in this fashion for a while, holding the growing chain of flowers in one hand while sorting out good flowers from the pile in the other. Confident that the Inquisitor was too dispassionate to care if the dwarf talked, Harding began, "I find that I like to have something to do with my hands when I'm thinking." She liked to think that the elf at least glanced her way but was confident that she didn't. "It lets me sort through things better. I dunno. Maybe it's just because I was raised always doing something, but the weight just feels nice sometimes."

Harding glanced up. The elf had moved her head. Just barely, but enough for the scout to realize it.

"My mother used to make me darn socks when I was in trouble," continued the dwarf. "Told me that if I wanted to brood over what happened, I should at least be useful while doing so." She paused as she laughed. "Don't understand much how making flower crowns helps in a time like this, but at least it's something."

She continued working in silence before the Inquisitor voiced a question.

"Where did you learn that?"

"I lived on a farm that had weeds everywhere. And considering I was a shepherd staring at sheep all day, I got used to keeping myself entertained." Harding looked up, finding the elf's blue eyes focused on the flowers. "Come on. You can make one. It isn't that hard."

"No, I'm fine, thank you," came the practiced, diplomatic answer. Harding rolled her eyes and tossed a handful of flowers to the Inquisitor. "Come on, Lavellan. You know you want to."

Whether it was simply in hopes of placating the chatty dwarf or out of actual desire to try, Harding would never know, but the elf picked up the flowers in her hands and started to tie them. It was a simple task that required no instruction so the two were free to work in silence. Surprisingly, the Inquisitor spoke again.

"They didn't have plants in the Deep Roads," she murmured to herself. "Well, not until…" Harding watched as the dexterous fingers in her line of vision faltered. Shaking her head, the Inquisitor resumed work and the fingers flew into motion again.

"Until what?" Harding ventured, not looking up but hoping that the Inquisitor would elaborate. There was a long pause, awkward in its tension, but two quick words silenced it: "The Titan."

Harding struggled to recall if she had run across the name before in any of her reports. It didn't seem familiar but the elf spoke it with such gravitas that she felt that she should have.

"The Titan? Sounds ominous," she found herself reflexively quipping. "Well, I guess not too ominous if it had plants."

"It wasn't ominous at all," the elf said lowly. "It was one of the most breath taking things I have ever seen." Harding sat quietly afraid to speak and shatter the train of words that slipped past the Inquisitor's lips.

"Imagine traveling down so deep that your eyes couldn't adjust to the lack of light around you," began the elf, dam breaking as she struggled to articulate the thoughts that had festered in her mind. "So dark that you could only move by feel and fear. And then imagine that as you descend lower lyrium veins show up everywhere, spidering across rocks and reaching into the air. Pure, untouched lyrium. And then imagine that you have to go lower. You expect that you'll find more darkness or more lyrium but as you emerge from the cave you see…plants. Green plants."

The Inquisitor paused as she absentmindedly rubbed her fingers on the leaves of a flower already forged into the crown chain.

"Plants. All the way down into the belly of the earth. And as you step out even more, you're bathed in sudden light and there are clouds floating around you. A whole world, untouched, living where every reason and logic says it should not. And that's when she knew that she was right."

Harding found that her mind paused over that pronoun. She took all male companions with her. Perhaps it was the Shaper?

"Valta knew," the Inquisitor continued. "Valta knew that the Titan was real. But in the end…"

Harding watched as the Inquisitor trailed. So here was the crux of the matter, Harding thought. Here was where the mind brooded.

"What happened with the Titan?" asked Harding quietly.

The Inquisitor sat still, face unreadable, fingers frozen.

"It…is her."

Against her will, Harding pulled a face. Mercifully, the Inquisitor didn't notice.

"Well, not really. I don't know to be honest. She 'harbors it' might be better," said the Inquisitor, mind clearly struggling to make sense of the situation. "She's marked in a way. Like I am."

Harding honed in on those words. They were simple on their own, but Harding could hear the lingering bitterness beneath them, could feel the tension radiate from the elf like a wave. Gasping as she realized it, Harding stifled a cough. The Inquisitor was _jealous_.

"What do you mean 'marked'?"

The Inquisitor practically glared at the dwarf.

"I mean that she has the essence of a Titan in her and can suddenly shoot lyrium from her palms. I mean that she suddenly speaks in awed, monotone words as if she is now somehow vastly superior to everyone. I mean that she isn't Valta anymore. She's some…half god practically."

Jealousy, bitterness, and fear, Harding surmised. More had happened than she could have possibly imagined.

"It's okay to be upset," Harding offered.

"I'm not upset," the elf said defensively, crushing the juice out of some stems as she did so. "I'm frustrated. If this dwarf can suddenly gain the powers of a Titan by mere chance, what's to say that Corypheus can't somehow become more powerful, too? I thought that I got the Anchor by chance at first. Thought it was all some weird accident. And now, just when I think that Andraste might be behind this after all, this dwarf comes along and proves me wrong. Proves that I am, in fact, just another product of fate. That the mark I have is naught but chance. That even the damned burden I have because of it is not even mine. It's all just bloody chance."

The elf threw her nearly finished crown to the ground, standing up as she did so. Harding scrambled to her feet as well.

"It's more than just fate, Inquisitor," Harding began.

"Oh, don't try to spit some Chantry nonsense at me," bit the elf. "I've had enough of those words trying to change me."

"No, I mean," Harding faltered, struggling for the right words. "You were a person before this."

The elf turned a wild gaze on her.

"I mean, you still are," she rushed to clarify. "But you were a person before all this. You were Avanna. And despite the mark and Corypheus, you still are Avanna. And I believe that only you could rise to the occasion."

"Oh, please—"

"No," said Harding with such conviction that she startled the elf. "I believe that only you could be the Inquisitor. Imagine if Valta got the mark. Do you think she'd do what you are? No. Because she is not you. You possess a will of incredible power. You have a purpose that calls out the best in you. You have proven to a nation that only you could have done this. You did not shy away from this duty, you did not crumple under the weight, and you did not bow at Haven. We remember that, Avanna, and we know that it is because _you_ have the mark that we are still here today. I can only imagine what it feels like to carry that burden around with you, hounding you like Corypheus himself, and I can only imagine what it feels like to see another adopt a similar role after you have endured yours for so long. But her role does not lessen your importance. It does not null your purpose. Yes, you may not be the only victim of fate, but you are the only one who carries your burden, just as Valta carries hers. They are different. Similar, yes, but fundamentally different. Your burden is still your privilege, Inquisitor. It will always be a burden only you can bear."

Harding watched as Avanna moved her jaw up and down, attempting to form any sort of thought, but left before she could muster those words. Harding had done what she needed to do and knew that time would finish the rest. She did allow herself to glance over her shoulder, though, and found that the Inquisitor was madly fashioning crowns from weeds, creating order from chaos even in her worries.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Because I'm stressing about school, and I think Harding would give epic motivational speeches. Super special shout-out to **Embrium **for reviewing my last chapter! And to you all you lovelies who have faved, alerted, and/or read this: THANK YOU!


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